


catch a blind eye

by dreamsoverdeath (dheiress)



Series: eyes [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Almost High School AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Denial, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Teenage Drama, Teenage Shenanigans, Tom is in denial about a lot of things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 02:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13331829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dheiress/pseuds/dreamsoverdeath
Summary: Dear Diary,My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am seven yaers old and I hate Harry James Potter.(In a world where they both grew up with the people that love them, Tom Riddle still hates Harry Potter and everything he symbolizes.)





	catch a blind eye

**Author's Note:**

> title is an amalgamation of the idioms ‘catch someone’s eye’ and ‘turn a blind eye’—because I’m weird like that and Tom doesn’t really help to make things un-weirder
> 
> also, the Ginarry tag happens far in the future and in the background, Tom doesn't like to think about it

 

 

_Dear Diary,_

_My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am seven yaers old and I hate Harry James Potter._

Tom frowns at his first entry. That doesn’t exactly cover things about him. His mum has saved a lot just to buy him this journal so he must at least make sure that the things written in it are _accurate_ and _precise_. (Tom loves those words, loves how one ends in a sharp cut and the other in a hiss. He has learned them in one of Mrs. Potter’s books, the one titled _“Science and its Basic Principles”_.)

Besides ‘years’ is spelled wrong, that’s just stupid.

Tom rips this page out before starting again.

 

_Dear Diary,_

_My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle._

_I live with my mother—her name is Merope Gaunt and I love her very much—in Godric’s Hollow. Mother works for the Potters who live just besides us. She makes sure their house is clean and proper because Mrs. Potter is too busy to do so and Mr. Potter is too lazy to do so. Sometimes, I help her out but most times, Mrs. Potter sees me and teaches me instead things about magic my mum can’t teach me. My mum always says Mrs. Potter is too kind and smart and Mr. Potter is alright if you ignore his crazy shenanigans with his friends. I’m saying this only to you but, really, as long as they don’t hurt Mother, I don’t care much about them._

_Also, today is the 31 st of December and it is my birthday._

_I am seven years old and I hate Harry James Potter._

 

_There,_ Tom thinks, nodding satisfactorily at what he has written. If he has this diary to tell important things to, then he doesn’t need any friend, no matter what his mother says. Most especially he doesn’t need friends the likes of Harry Potter.

Tom smiles at his first entry, _Much better._

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Happy New Year, Tom!” the boy shrieks gleefully. He rides his broom today, chasing after his flying golden ball on their small front yard and waving at Tom and Merope as they approach the Potter’s house.

 

“Harry,” Tom’s mother greets with a warm smile. She pinches Tom’s lower back and Tom sniffs out a less enthusiastic, “Harry.”

 

“Miss Merope!” the boy half-yells as he lowers and dismounts from his broom. He runs to them, clings and tugs to Tom’s arm with a squeal. Tom frowns, the boy is five months older than him, why must he still act like a brat (Merriam-Webster: brat, n _oun._ a disparaging child, specifically, an ill-mannered annoying child e.g. (for example) a spoiled brat i.e. (that is) Harry Potter)?

 

“Miss Merope, can me and Tom play quidditch today?”

 

_Tom and I,_ not _me and Tom_.  As always, he’s grammatically incorrect and putting himself before Tom.

 

“Of course,” his mother says just as Tom blurts out a “no!”

 

Merope pinches his lower back again.

 

“No, thank you,” Tom grits out, “I’m afraid of heights.” No, Tom isn’t afraid of heights, but he rather confesses an imaginary weakness than spend time willingly with _Harry Potter._ Said Potter just grins and tugs harder at Tom’s arm, dragging him inside the house. Tom tries to resist as subtly (subtly, _adverb._ with subtleness, in a subtle manner; with cleverness rather than brute force i.e. Tom will be a subtle Slytherin, not a reckless Gryffindor) as he can.

 

“That’s okay,” he exclaims, “let’s just play Aurors and Dark Wizards! I’ll be the Auror!”

 

“Yay,” Tom says, tired already and it’s just been—what? One? Two, three minutes?—some minutes of being with Harry Potter (Salazar, does he hate this boy), “I’ll be the dark wizard.”

 

He looks back at his mother. She has picked up the discarded toy broom and has summoned the real one she uses to sweep the Potter’s yard. Tom stares at her, trying to convey his feelings. _This,_ he thought as his imaginary hand points at the Potter brat who has dirt on his cheeks and probably wouldn’t even know what subtle means even if it points a wand at his face, _is what you want me to befriend?_

 

His mother, with her hair tight in a bun, her eyes staring at opposite directions, waves at him with a smile that says _behave._

 

Tom sticks his tongue out at her.

 

His mother just laughs.

 

 


End file.
